


Dress

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, Stitch doesn’t make women’s clothes because he wants to wear them. Even when he was in the prime of his life, he never had the body for that sort of thing, and he’s never had much desire to prance around in frilly things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress

Contrary to popular belief, Stitch doesn’t make women’s clothes because he wants to wear them. Even when he was in the prime of his life, he never had the body for that sort of thing, and he’s never had much desire to prance around in frilly things.

But he likes sewing, and more than that, he likes creating, likes picturing something and bringing it to life. Women’s fashion simply has more options for a man like him to create in. That’s why Snowman’s closet is overflowing with more outfits than she’s got the inclination to wear. With the rest of the Felt, he has to come up with a suit that looks uniform and cohesive, no matter if it’s Clover wearing it, or Sawbuck, or Cans. It’s a challenge, but it’s not impossible, and once solved there’s not much else to do but spend his creativity on Snowman.

The only problem is that her figure lends her towards many things, but it rules out a whole host of others that don’t exactly look flattering on somebody with knock-out curves. Most other women in this place are of the flat and narrow variety, and as they pass he thinks up fashions that would look stunning, but he’s got no one to try them on. And he isn’t about to start making clothes to hand out to strangers. This isn’t some for of charity for terminally incompetent dressers. It’s a hobby, something he does for fun, and something he only does for people he gives a fuck about.

Now, Stitch doesn’t wear women’s clothing, but he’s dated a few men who did. He’s always taken great pleasure in dressing up his paramours, no matter what their taste in clothes, and Droog’s no exception to that rule. Pearl buttons and cream-coloured lining, straight cut trousers and skinny ties, jackets in a dozen different shades of black and grey; these are the things he makes for Droog not because he has to, but because he likes to, and because Droog will wear them. It never occurs to him to ask if Droog ever wants anything different.

He lets Droog in the usual way, through the windows on the ground level. The rest of the Felt is facing off against the Stoop Shooters, which means that Droog’s free to visit, so long as they don’t go too far away from the effigies. Somebody’s bound to be hurt, since somebody always it. He’s just making sure the volume’s up on his radio when Droog says, “Who’s that for?”

“Huh?” Stitch asks, and realizes that Droog’s looking at the flapper dress. Sometimes when Stitch gets one of those grand ideas, he makes the dress even though he’s got no one to give it to. This particular dress is an ivory coloured flapper with a dark black sash across the hips, straight and tight, and a soft felt hat in the same colours. It’s waiting for a string of dark pearls and white stockings, the sort of thing that would make any tall dark carapace look astounding, “That dress? Nobody. I don’t know anybody it would suit.”

Droog nods again and approaches it, looking it over with that cold, measured look that’s second nature to him, “Might suit me.”

Stitch pauses. This is the first Droog’s ever even hinted at such a thing. Stitch gets a flash of Droog in it, rolling stockings up his legs, and he knows in an instant what the answer will be, “You want it? It’s yours. Same rules apply to this as to the others.” There’s only one rule: Whatever he gives Droog, he gets to see Droog model it for him.

Droog keeps his eyes on the dress, reaching up and loosening his tie before starting on the buttons of his shirt. Stitch settles himself on a stool and just watches as Droog slowly and methodically strips down. Every item is folded and or hung on a nearby rack, perfectly ordered for when he dresses himself again. He’s not shy or modest, and he’s certainly willing to let Stitch get a very good view of his naked body. Stitch appreciates that. Confidence is attractive on Droog.

He slips the dress over his head, and the iridescent cloth falls over his skin perfectly, not catching or pulling anywhere it shouldn’t. It’s a bit short on Droog, an inch away from revealing far too much. Otherwise, it looks perfect on him. A little lipstick, the right hat and pearls, and Droog could pass as a woman. Right now, he’s too masculine for that, but Stitch sure as hell isn’t complaining. There’s something better about this, Droog just on the edge of androgynous, but not quite there yet.

Droog stalks over to Stitch, leaning down so they’re face to face. The front of the dress crumbles just a little, revealing a little of Droog’s chest, smooth and impossibly dark. Those white eyes stay on his face, and then Droog reaches out, settling his hands on Stitch's thighs, “You like this?”

“I like you in anything,” Stitch answers, because it’s true. But he can’t deny that there’s something about the creamy white against Droog’s carapace, the lace and silk and sash overtop his lean, hard body. Stitch touches the fabric, sliding his knuckles slowly down to the imperfect pulling in the dress around Droog’s groin. Those white eyes narrow just-so, encouraging Stitch to start stroking Droog through the fabric.

It doesn't take much to get him hard, not when the silk's rubbing directly against Droog's cock. Stitch draws the hem up a little, just enough to get a look at Droog's cock as the fabric slides up and down his shaft, and to keep it from getting stained with precome. The very last thing he wants is to ruin this dress, not when he just finished sewing not too long ago.

"If you're worried about stains," Droog's voice is steady, even as Stitch strokes him off, "I can think of a few obvious solutions."

Stitch narrows his eyes. He doesn't like it when Droog can tell what he's thinking about. Still, Droog has a point. There are some very obvious solutions. He eases himself off the stool and gets down on his knees with a little effort, ignoring how they ache as he settles his weight on them. Droog's cock is lovely enough, but it's made even better by the silk bunching around the base of it.

He doesn't waste any time, opening his mouth and sliding it over the shaft. He's sucked enough dicks in his lifetime, but there's still something fascinating about Droog's. It's so smooth, except for the rough ridges on the underside, and the lack of foreskin always catches him a bit off guard. Stitch sucks, and his eyes flick up, noting the subtle change on Droog's face.

Droog settles his hand on Stitch's head, giving him a polite but firm nudge to speed up. Stitch gives an equally polite but firm reminder with his teeth who's in charge down here, Droog shuddering as his bottom teeth rub over the ridges, "Careful," Droog warns him, voice wavering just a touch, "Wouldn't want to ruin something this nice."

Stitch chuckles before sucking again, savouring the soft guttural sound Droog makes. He works his mouth down Droog's shaft in a series of steady bobs, his face pressing up against the crumpled fabric. The softness of the silk only highlights the hard carapace underneath. His knees ache softly as he shifts on his knees, pulling off of Droog's cock and stroking while he catches his breath. Stitch can't stop looking up at Droog's body wrapped in the dress, and the way he could easily pass, if not for the hard cock in Stitch's fist.

"Next time, have some lipstick ready," Droog's still catching onto Stitch's thoughts, and this one make Stitch's own cock twitch at the thought, "Something subtle. Tasteful."

"I think I'll find something appropriate," Stitch licks the head of Droog's cock, tasting the precum just lingering there. The fingers on the top of his head give a nudge back towards the cock, and this time, Stitch obeys them, slipping his mouth easily over Droog again. His own hands wrap around Droog's legs, holding steady as his mouth moves up and down the hard shaft. It's so easy to let his fingers creep up and wrap around the edges of the dress.

Droog's fingers dig in a little as a warning, and his hips thrust forward a moment later. Stitch's own hands tighten on the dress, and he has to force himself to let go, not wanting to wrinkle it or accidentally tear the cloth. Droog thrusts steadily into Stitch's mouth, hand holding Stitch's head steady as his cock rocks in and out of his mouth. His fingers twitch with each thrust, and he sucks as steadily as he can.

"Heels too," Droog dictates to Stitch, even as he fucks his face. It's one of his better qualities. Even when distracted, he manages to keep it together, "Something that matches the dress. I do expect more of them in this style, but in darker colours."

There's no warning from Droog, but there never is. Stitch has learned to read his body language to know when he's about to come, since it's saved him in the past from having to wash out his eyes in the sink. He's got enough problems without adding vision to the mix. Droog's breathing speeds up and Stitch just keeps sucking, breathing shallowly through his nose. When Droog comes, he shoves Stitch's mouth all the way down his shaft so his lips wrap around the base of his cock, and he holds him in place as he comes with a thin groan. Stitch's face is covered in the fabric and he closes his eyes, swallowing the salty fluid and focusing on the way silk feels on his forehead and nose.

Droog lets him off and Stitch wipes off his mouth, giving his own cock a squeeze from his place on the ground. He goes to stand up and it's not too easy, Stitch reaching for the stool to give him a hand. Droog watches with those flinty eyes of his, still bright even when he's dazed from coming, and after a moment, he nudges Stitch back onto the floor.

"For fuck's sake junior," Stitch gripes, but quickly stops when Droog follows him to the floor of the boutique, sitting on Stitch's legs as he reaches for the belt, "Try a little communication."

"If you insist," Droog gets Stitch's pants open and a hand around his cock, giving it a few strokes. He's quick and efficient, just what Stitch needs, and he works Stitch's trousers down until his cock is free. The dress rides up around Droog's hips and Stitch just has to take a moment to admire it. Droog tilts his head to the side, silently appraising Stitch before finally speaking, "What do you want?"

"What do I want? I think we both know," His eyes sweep over the cream and coal, and to the hand fisting Stitch's cock, "How about you do the work for once?"

Droog rubs a thumb over the head of Stitch's cock, hmming softly, then reaches out and tucks his hands into the pockets of Stitch's jacket. The small vial of oil he always carries is in it's usual place, and Stitch is more than happy to just lean back and watch Droog uncap it and coat his fingers with the stuff. It feels fantastic on Stitch's cock, warm from being so close to his chest. He also enjoys watching Droog reach down and carefully slip a few fingers inside himself.

"Handkerchief," Droog requests, thrusting his fingers into himself. Stitch produces one and hands it to Droog, who carefully cleans the oil off his fingers when he's finished. He keeps it nearby as he hitches the skirt up further before lifting his hips up and getting them overtop of Stitch. He carefully grasps Stitch's oiled cock with two handkerchief-covered fingers, holding it steady, "We don't want to ruin something this nice, do we."

"It's the last fucking thing I want to do," Stitch assures Droog, groaning softly when Droog begins to slide himself down on Stitch's cock. It's easy to settle his hands on Droog's thighs, to just hold onto him while Droog slowly and casually impales himself on the cock. The dress falls back down into place, and he's so strange and androgynous looking when the dress hides his cock.

Droog knows what he wants, and he gets moving right away, rocking his hips on top of Stitch. He's good at this, but that's no surprise. Stitch has bad fucking knees, this sort of a position is always easiest for them. Then Stitch can enjoy how fucking hot Droog is, and the way he tightens just a little each time he rocks forward.

The ivory coloured fabric clings to Droog's body like a second skin, so delicate and so lovely. He can't imagine why they didn't do this sooner. Droog looks magnificent like this. A few accessories, and he could pass. Hell, Stitch could even take him out in public and no one would be the wiser.

"What's so funny?" Droog grinds down and Stitch shudders, loving the sensation. The silk beneath his hands is still just a little cool, the heat from Droog's skin radiating underneath it. Droog's eyes narrow when he doesn't get an answer immediately and he goes still, silently demanding one.

"Just thinking about how you'd look decked out to the nines," Stitch's hands tighten, giving Droog a shove to get him going again. Droog does, sliding himself up and down Stitch's cock. Each drop down goes a little deeper in, heading into territory they both enjoy, "I could take you out next time the Felt goes out on the town as my lady friend."

Droog's eyes remain narrow, but this time, it's a good sort of narrow. This sort means that Droog's considering it, and he actually likes the option, "And what would we do?"

"Drink. Dance. Fuck in the bathroom," Stitch groans again as Droog begins to speed up. He can imagine it now; drinking gin and martinis, dancing on the floor while Fin tries to cut in, bending Droog over the sinks at the bathroom of some dive bar and fucking him so hard he can barely walk straight, "All sorts of things."

The slightest of smirks forms on the corners of his mouth. Droog fucks himself down as deep as he can go on Stitch's cock, and it's hard for Stitch not to lose his mind when he's buried this deep inside of Droog, particularly when Droog is still ever so calm and methodical, "Black and red for my dress. Diamonds for jewelry. Heels, not flats. A hat, not a headband."

That's as close to as 'yes' as Stitch is getting. He squeezes Droog's hips and then carefully tips them over so Droog's sprawled out on the floor, his hips lifted high for Stitch to get access to. His knees ache as he settles his weight on them, but Stitch ignores them, sliding deep inside of Droog and fucking him on the floor. Droog lounges there, comfortable no matter where he is, and the dress has ridden up and twisted here and there, clinging to Droog's body in strange and attractive ways.

Droog's hard again, and with each thrust down, his cock bobs ever so slightly, clearly aching to be touched. Stitch feels a quiet pang of jealousy for the carapace's short refractory period then shoves it aside. He's an old man, he doesn't need to be jealous of this shit. All he needs to worry about is his own orgasm, the one he's slowly creeping up on while balls deep inside of Droog, "For diamonds, I'm expecting you to go down on me right there at the table."

This gets a smile out of Droog, and a flash of sharp teeth hidden so carefully behind his lips. That isn't a yes, but it's a maybe, and that maybe is enough to push Stitch along. He loses control his hips, just slamming mindlessly into Droog. Stitch has enough presence left to make sure the dress is well and truly shoved out of the way, not wanting to have it caught under Droog's ass when Stitch sets him down. And with that done, he just shoves into Droog and comes, quiet grunting sounds escaping his mouth as the pulse of pleasure rocks through him. Droog is still so hot and tight, and his eyes flicker wide for half a moment as Stitch stays tightly buried in him, making sure to come deep inside of Droog.

Only when he's utterly spent does he pull back, his cock sliding out of Droog with a soft popping sound. He sets Droog's hips down, grabs the handkerchief, and gets it over top of Droog's cock as he starts to jerk him off. Stitch's knees are screaming but he ignores that, focusing instead on Droog's face, "I'm going to enjoy coming inside of your mouth," Stitch tells Droog, already imagining it covered in thick red lipstick and wrapped around Stitch's cock, "Or maybe I'll come on your face, ruin your make-up."

He expects to hear some sharp annoyance from Droog, but there's that soft smirk at the edges of Droog's lips again, "For diamonds, I'll let you."

"Fuck," Stitch mutters, and his cock gives a helpless twitch at the thought. His hand speeds up and he takes this all in; Droog looking deliciously debauched in his silk dress, his cheeks a dark red and his prick firm and equally flushed. The dress has almost miraculously stayed clean, though he can spot a few dark spots here and there from Droog's sweating. That's nothing a launder won't remove though. He's tempted to pull the handkerchief away, to let Droog come over the dress, white on white on black. But it's so new, and even he can't bring himself to ruin it when it looks so damn good on Droog.

It doesn't matter though. Before he can really debate about this, Droog's breathing gets fast and shallow. The second time he comes is always more obvious than the first. Maybe he can't hide it any more. Maybe he doesn't want to. He arches a little though, trying to make Stitch stroke him faster and Stitch is happy to oblige. Droog finally lifts his hands off the floor and settles them on his chest, stroking the soft silk again and again, until he finally tenses up under Stitch's hands and comes without a single sound.

The handkerchief catches the worst of it, a spot or two leaking through onto Stitch's fingers. None of it reaches the dress, and when he's sure that Droog has nothing left to give, Stitch settles him on the floor and eases off of his knees. They're aching like mad and he knows he'll pay tomorrow, but he doesn't give a damn right now.

They sit in silence, catching their breaths, when the radio squawks, "Stitch, Matchsticks is bleeding pretty bad."

His eyes slide over to the effigy, which is torn across the chest. Stitch grabs onto the stool and yanks himself off the floor, grabbing the radio as he hobbles over to the effigy, "On it."

It's easy, almost mindless work. He threads a needle and gets to work, quickly and efficiently sewing the gash up, knowing his handiwork is appearing on Matchsticks' body however many miles away. Stitch can hear Droog moving around, but he ignores him, focusing on his work. He knows Droog won't throw a fit over not getting attention. They're both professionals, they both put their jobs ahead of everything.

It's only as he finishes doing the last few stitches that Droog slides up behind him, leaning in close and speaking directly into Stitch's ear, "Remember," His voice crawls up the base of Stitch's spine, "Subtle and tasteful. I'm not a whore."

And with that, Droog's gone, back out the way he came. Stitch finishes up with the effigy and glances around the room. The stained handkerchief is lying on the floor, and Stitch hobbles over and picks it up, tossing it in the laundry basket. It's only as he tosses it away that he notices the dress is gone, along with the rest of Droog's clothes.

Stitch smiles to himself, quietly chuckling before the radio squeaks again and he heads over to the next effigy in need of repair.


End file.
